


Not Our Wedding

by LiamLogan



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: 10k, Angst, Drugs, Fake Wedding AU, Hurt and comfort, Logince - Freeform, M/M, Misgendering, Trans Character, Trans Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Trans Male Character, tw drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 02:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18790945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiamLogan/pseuds/LiamLogan
Summary: When Roman asks Logan to pretend to be his boyfriend for his cousin's wedding, he agrees. When he finds out that it's actually the next day, he stresses, taking him to buy nice attire and talking to Virgil. Little does he know, Roman sincerely loves him, and just wants to spend more time with him. However, when one of Roman's relatives thinks of herself as a 'converter' for gay men, Roman is placed in a horrifying situation to protect his friend and love.





	1. Mostly Logan

Chapter one: Mostly Logan

 

As dramatic as ever, Roman bursts into my room, but this time looking rather distressed. His cheeks are rosy, as if he’s flustered, and he seems to be in somewhat of a panic.

“Logan!” He shouts, despite being no more than ten feet away from me.

“Hello.”

“Logan, my cousin is getting married and I need you to come with me to pretend to be my boyfriend!” He screams, loud enough for not only Virgil and Patton to hear, but probably everyone on the street as well.

“Why me?” I ask, not only confused but panicked.

“Because my cousin likes smart people and you’ll easily impress her! If she thinks I managed to date someone as intelligent as you, she’ll be proud of me.” He explains, talking with his hands alongside him. He always gesticulates when he speaks, which is a sign that what he’s saying is true. Not only that, but he sure does know how to convince me to do anything.

“You admit that I’m intelligent, and also that I’ll impress your cousin? I’ll check my timetable and get back to you, when’s the wedding?”

“Tomo-”

“TOMORROW?!” I screech, rising out of my chair and accidentally throwing down my book in surprise. I know Roman’s reputation precedes him when it comes to very last minute arrangements, but I never would have thought he’d tell me that I have a wedding to attend tomorrow. He holds his hands together nervously, and I make sure to instantly calm down (when I yell at him, he can be as sensitive as Virgil at any given time. Patton says I criticise him too much).

“I only got the invitation a few days ago,” he says timidly, “and I only thought now that I’d be expected to not be single anymore, and Virgil would hate it and Patton is such a lightweight he would be drunk within half an hour.”

“So not only am I intelligent, you’re also willing to admit that I can handle myself the best?” I tease.

“Honestly, Logan, I’d admit just about anything if you’ll help me out now.” He says, exasperated.

“Oh, anything?” I tease further, simply because he blushes easily and he hates it.

“Well, no- not…” He stutters.

“Come on, loser, we’re going shopping.” I exclaim, taking his hand and leading him out the door. I’ve been on the internet long enough to know what Roman is thinking, so I’m going to make sure that we both look perfect at the wedding. I’m going to make us look good enough that people will think it’s _our_ wedding.

 

I still have his hand and he hasn’t pulled away, but I’m not so much dragging him now as leading; to any ignorant onlooker, we may already look like partners. I show him inside a slightly more high-end store, and greet the staff like old friends (they don’t get paid enough to deal with anything less, really) and lead Roman straight to the back wall. Here, it’s a bit more secluded, especially considering that I’ve only seen four other people here. I release him and turn to face him. He’s taller than me and I hate it.

“Is a red suit okay?” I ask, staring into his eyes intently. Something about him seems off, like he’s hiding something. He nods his head- which is good, considering he was getting one anyway. I pull a tape measure out of my pocket (yes, I brought it with me) and take his measurements so I can get the best-fitting one. Despite several staff members asking if I needed assistance, I always refuse. Only I’m allowed to be this close to him (and that’s not the possessive side of me talking either: he doesn’t like being touched by almost anyone else. He’ll only hug Patton himself, Patton will only give him physical affection if given explicit permission. He doesn’t mind touching Virgil that much, but any astute observer will see how he flinches. He doesn’t flinch with me). Only I’m allowed to touch him, and I’ll indulge in doing so however I please. However, when I wrap the tool around his chest to gather a measurement, he closes off, squirms, and starts to breathe faster. Oh, I forgot: he doesn’t like being touched at his chest- not by anyone.

“Sorry.” I whisper, the store being so quiet that everyone would hear my regular speaking voice. Having an apology too loud would surely be too surreptitious for his liking. He smiles apologetically, and I hesitate to make any further moves. He’s always so gentle that I forget that I am expected to treat him the same way. I use the numbers I already have to get the best-fitting suit for him, a red three-piece, and a matching blue one in my size. I pay, and we leave.

 

At home, the other two are sitting and watching an anime of some sort. Rather than lecturing them on the problematic themes that a lot of anime conveys and how American ‘culture’ has appropriated the Japanese art in order to accrue profit, I lead Roman to my room, closing the door shut behind us.

“Try this on.” I demand, handing him the suit. He changes comfortably in my presence. I can’t help but eye on his scars, the ones that mark his chest and show how hard he’s had to work to prove to the world that he’s enough of a man. I do it with subtlety because I know it’s rude to stare and I don’t want to risk making him feel self-conscious about something that demonstrates how unique he is, and how much of a miracle it is for him to exist. We both know the data, and one would have thought he never stood a chance in this world, yet he is here and he is beautiful- especially in red.

“Excellent.” I say, when he’s fully changed. “Red suits you, it’s a powerful colour.” He beams at me, looking at himself in the mirror at all angles.

“Now you try yours!” He requests excitedly. A demeanour like that is hard to refuse, so I get into my blue suit and stand next to him awkwardly. I hate being the shorter one.

“Oh, and the suit isn’t the only thing, look at these…” I say, conjuring some fake roses from one of the drawers under my bed. A rose in the colour of my suit for Roman and one in his colour for me.

“We look great! Thank you so much for this, Logan. I really appreciate the lengths you’re going to for me.” He sounds appreciative, but his body language is just screaming nervousness at me.

“Well, we should save looking great for tomorrow, give that back and I’ll hang it up ready.” I say, my voice not being the monotone that I prefer, but almost with an air of sadness.

 

_Back in my usual attire, I saunter out of Logan’s room and instantly over to Patton, and ask to talk to him privately, offering a happy look to Virgil, who in return shoots up a peace sign. In my room, I explain what’s happened._

_“So you asked Logan to be your fake boyfriend at your cousin’s wedding, which is tomorrow?”_

_“Yes.” I confirm._

_“But asking him to be your real boyfriend is too scary?”_

_“Yes.” I repeat._

_“And he bought you and himself matching clothes just for tomorrow as soon as you told him?”_

_“Yes.” I really don’t understand what’s so confusing about the story that needs to be reiterated, but he’s doing a great job at re-telling the serendipitous events at me._

_“And he held your hand the whole way there?”_

_“Yes, and I let him.”_

_“That was going to be my next question. He took your measurements himself rather than allowing a worker to do it?”_

_“He knows I’m not comfortable with contact from other people._

_“If the night doesn’t end with you confessing tomorrow, I’m suing.”_

“So Roman asked you to pretend to be his date at his cousin’s wedding tomorrow?” Virgil asks, astounded.

“He did, and I said yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he said that my intelligence will impress his cousin and he admitted that I can take more alcohol than he can.”

“Jesus, Logan, you need to learn to swallow your pride sometimes.”

“Pride is an abstract noun, therefore cannot be swallowed. The alternative refers to a collection of lions, which I wouldn’t recommend.”

“Okay, Logan… So you bought yourself a suit to match with him and some roses too?” He asks, as if I hadn’t made the story clear enough.

“Correct, and I don’t need a re-telling of the serendipity. I told you the truth, but I’m conflicted… What if he does actually like me?” I ask, knowing that his answer will be vague, but not wanting to just leave my statement hanging.

“Well, do you like him?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” I reply, trying to assess whatever thoughts I have about Roman, knowing that feelings aren’t something I can manage on my own, realising that I may actually like him.

“Well, we should figure that out before tomorrow, in case something happens. What are your first thoughts about him?”

“Well… It’s complicated,” I say truthfully. My character is enough of an enigma without the factor of feelings. “He’s something of a miracle, and I want to protect him. I want to make sure he’s safe and happy and I want him to always feel like he’s at the top of the world, and I want to be a part of that world, and I want to know how he feels and what he thinks. I want to sit in a comfortable silence with him while we enjoy each other’s company, and I want to make him as happy as he makes me.”

“He makes you happy?” He asks jokingly, cracking a rare grin.

“In a way, yes. Virgil, you know I use language that reflects emotions simply out of convention, because while I’m not really anything ever, he’s like a Focus of mine.” I explain, we’ve talked about this before, but for Virgil. A Focus, to us, is like something to which you’re committed, something you love dearly without the feeling, something just to take away the empty and fill it with something warm. For Virgil, he has music, conspiracy theory videos, and Patton (he’s never explicitly talked about that last one, but any observer- astute or not- can tell). Mine include books, facts and figures, and now Roman I suppose.

“Well, I think that’s answer enough in itself, but what do you want to do in regards to that?”

“I want him to know.”

“And when he knows? Then what? How do you want things to proceed?”

“That’s the problem, Virgil, I’m not sure. I don’t imagine he feels the same way, so I want either things to continue the way they are now, or to… He could do way better than me.” I say to Virgil, who conjures a dubious glance.

_“He’s way too good for me.” I explain to Patton, who casts a doubtful look._

“There’s no chance he could feel the same.”

_“He’d never feel that way about me.”_

“He just wants to impress his cousin.”

_“I just want to impress him.”_

“And yet…”

_“But still…”_

“I can’t help but feel like he’s after something.”

_“Something is telling me he wants something more.”_

 

 

I take his hand as we approach the church, ensuring that nobody has reason to suspect a thing about us. He told me that his cousin thinks we’ve been together for a few months now, so anything too nervous will seem fake. We went over some ground rules: hand-holding is okay, hugs are only okay if the time allows it, kissing is not okay, and if someone asks one of us about the other, we are to simply say what we’re studying. No embarrassing or personal stories, no lies, and not too much affection.

“Roman!” Calls out someone. I don’t know any of Roman’s family. It would have been a good idea to go over some pictures before coming over here. He’s the same height as Roman, meaning he has at least two inches on me, and he’s dressed in a generic black and white suit- he doesn’t even have a waistcoat.

“Malcolm!” Replies Roman, holding out his hand in offer for a simple and sophisticated handshake, before he gets consumed by a hug. Sensing discomfort, I reach out my arms in protest, but then remember that he’s family and I’m not to get too involved. The last thing I was is to start drama at someone else’s wedding.

“Who’s this?” He asks, giving me a strange look.

“This is my partner, Logan. Logan,” he turns, addressing me now, “this is one of my other cousins, Malcolm.”

“How many cousins do you have?” I ask him, innocently enough in my opinion, but he seems slightly offended.

“You’ll see at the service.” Laughs Malcolm. That means probably upwards of twenty. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“I’m studying at the same university as Roman, majoring in genetic biology.”

“Oh, surely there’s more to you than studies! Give me a funny story.”

“Well, one time I got twenty bucks because Roman bet I couldn’t chug a whole bottle of chocolate milk.”

“Well!” Roman scoffs as Malcolm grins. “I later earnt it back when you said I couldn’t quote a Lord Byron poem!” The dynamic conversation continues all the way while walking up to the church, and Malcolm sits on Roman’s other side during the ceremony.

 

The bride is wearing a nice enough dress, typically white with a floral sewing pattern on the side, a bit tight-fitting but I’m sure she is comfortable enough. The groom has donned a conventional and safe tuxedo, but he must have swapped the tie with one of his own as he’s currently wearing one with a red and blue floral pattern stitched into it, similar to the bride’s dress. White and gold balloons surround them, along with two bridesmaids dressed in a light pink. One, only about five years old, nearly falls asleep by the end of the vows, and the other, at least ten years older and presumably her sister, nudges her awake. Nobody else seems to notice the potential precursor for a calamity. Also, Roman has over thirty cousins, somehow. I have about five. They’re all dressed achromatically, save for the odd green or purple tie or belt. Sometimes I curse Roman’s eccentricity, how ‘extra’ he is, but in a family as complacently conventional as his, I should be grateful that he sticks out from the crowd.

 

After the ceremony, we all go to some bar. The area is big enough for the younger kids to play without being a tripping hazard for the adults, and there are a few seats outside if anyone gets too hot, but other than that there is nothing to do except drink. If I had enough emotion to spare it would probably make me sad how their idea of a good time is just getting too drunk to remember it. The bride has changed into another dress; it still nice but it looks a lot cheaper (I guess she wouldn’t mind if someone spills some wine on that one). Just as I’m talking to Roman, she approaches and- like everyone else- asks who I am.

“This is my partner, Logan.” Roman explains for the literal 28th time. Yes, I’ve been counting.

“Oh!” She squeals excitedly. “Roman talked about you but she never- he, sorry- never mentioned you were together.”

“Oh, I’m sure I did,” he blushes, “maybe it was just in passing?”

“So, Logan, tell me about yourself! Let’s have a look at the kind of guys Roman pulls.” She stands smugly- in a loose sense of the term- next to Roman who, subtly, gestures as if now is my chance to show off.

“Well, I’m studying genetic biology at university but in college I studied biology, chemistry, psychology, and English language, my earlier qualifications include Spanish- in which I am fluent- history, and geography. I have won four awards for my writing and general knowledge. I can also handle more alcohol than Roman even though he won’t admit it.” I say a lot, I’m definitely bragging by the end of it, but Roman looks relieved and his cousin- whose name I should probably find out- looks impressed, just like he said.

“Wow, Roman, you got a handsome _and_ smart one. I didn’t know guys like you still existed!” Interrupts someone whom I do not recognise. Despite my willingness to greet her, Roman looks disgusted and immediately pulls me away and towards the middle of the room.

“Logan, be careful with her. She has a thing for gay guys; I think she thinks she can convert them and she _will_ try.”

“Roman, I need to know your cousin’s name. The one getting married.”

“Oh, her name’s Ella. Why do you need to know so urgently?”

“I can’t just keep calling her ‘your cousin’ because that’s confusing. And what about the so-called ‘converter’?”

“She’s Betty. And who are you talking to about my cousins so much that you need their names?” He sounds rather distressed, but he’s fighting a smile beneath his façade.

“That’s not your problem. Did I show off enough for Ella?”

“Yes, you did amazingly. If someone else asks, though, feel free to mention that you are also trained in martial arts and that you know Morse code. The more you flex, the better.” He says, giving me a pat on the back and then swaggering off to get us drinks. In the time he’s gone, Malcolm approaches me, smiling, and asks me how things are going with Roman.

“Oh, he’s just off getting drinks.” I reply. He throws a look to me as if that’s not what he wanted to know.

“I meant with the relationship. The dude was always scared he would never find anyone so I was just wondering how he managed to get you.”

“I think the real question is how I managed to get him, really. I grew up being told that nobody likes a know-it-all, yet Roman does and I don’t think I’ll ever stop being grateful for him being one of the only ones to love and encourage who I am rather than punish or gawk at me and what I can do.”

“Gentlemen.” Roman interrupts, sliding into a front split as he gives me my peach daiquiri.

“Aw, thanks Ro.” I say, taking his hands and helping him glide back up. He does it so smoothly that I have to act like I’m used to it- I’m actually really astounded.

 

A while later, I’m sat at the bar, with Roman having just gone to the bathroom, the lights off and a ‘disco’ of sorts happening. I’m not interested in such frivolous eccentricities, so I sit and scroll through some news articles on my phone. Out of nowhere, Betty sits next to me. She looks to be slightly tipsy, but mostly still sober- just tired if anything.

“Have you been drinking, Logan?” She asks, to which I simply nod in reply. She calls the bartender and asks for two glasses of tap water. They arrive, after a while, with enough ice cubes and lemon slices to not be considered ‘tap water’. They’ve been put too close to her for me to reach, so I simply stare longingly while she grips them both. I’m not _just_ staring; I’m observing. She takes a sip of hers, and hands me the other glass with both hands. I take a huge sip, almost down half of it in one gulp, and put it back on the bar. It’s refreshingly cold.

“It tastes a bit weird…” I comment, trying not to let my anxieties take over.

“Mine too. Probably just a grimy tap.” She replies, calming my nerves. If hers tastes weird as well, I’m probably fine.

“Pleasant to know that we’re drinking from a grimy tap.” I joke, to which she laughs way too much considering what I said. It’s probably the alcohol laughing, not her. From the corner of my eye, I see Roman and wave up my arm to catch his attention. Seeing me, he seems to sigh with relief and jogs over happily, until his eyes slide towards Betty, and suddenly his smile drops and his eyes become sullen and dark.

“Hey, Logan. Betty.” He greets.

“Hi, Ro!” I exclaim, with an unusual sense of enthusiasm. He laughs nervously.

“Hey, Roman. I was just talking to Logan about this tap water- look, it has lemon slices!” She says, holding up her glass of water. “Oh, and I think Raven wanted you- they’re just over there. Something about… You know…” Her voice trails off, and Roman suddenly turns a ghostly pale white, before hastily yet carefully makes his way over to where Betty was pointing.

“How long have you and Roman been together?” She asks, resting her chin in her hands with her elbows leaning on the bar.

“A few months now, but I’ve known him for quite a while.” I answer. I don’t like lying, but I’m very good at it.

“You’re cute together, and definitely the best dressed out of everyone else here. Red and blue suits with opposite roses? Iconic.”

“I don’t know, you’re fairly well-attired yourself.” I respond, not wanting too much focus on me. It’s true, a salmon pink skirt with a cream blouse stands out amongst all the black white (although, I can think of at least two people who no longer are wearing white, having dyed their clothing with splashes of red wine). We continue talking for a few minutes, just simple talk about what she does (she’s studying music at a college I don’t know), about me, and a lot about me and Roman. She does seem intrusively interested in the intricacies of, what she believes to be, our relationship. I compliment her on her make-up, and she giggles and blushes. Suddenly, I feel dizzy, and my vision is blurry, even with my glasses. I don’t know what I’m doing or what’s happening, but every sound blends together, and everything in sight melts into one lump of colour. I feel loose, like someone has just spilled me all over the floor and I’m no longer intact. Before I know it, I’m dragged into darkness.


	2. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving him behind for just a few minutes, Roman learns the hard way that 'just a few minutes' is all it takes before he notices him being dragged to some secluded room. He panics, rushing to make his way over to him, not knowing how he will possibly explain this to his friends back home, or how he will keep Logan safe.

Raven didn’t particularly want to see me, but they were happy to chat for a while. Mostly about me and Logan. Not wanting to delve too deeply into the relationship, I start asking about them. They just got a job as chef, and have been working there for a few weeks. I turn back to check on Logan and Betty- she’s notorious for easily slipping out of sight- and my blood runs cold when they’re not there. I scan the area as thoroughly as I can with the time I have, and luckily notice them sliding through a door leading to what I believe is just a supply closet. Unwilling to arouse suspicion, I thank Raven for their time and excuse myself, chasing after them. I’m barely past tipsy, so there’s no way that Logan is out of his mind. Of course, just as I need to traipse across the room as quickly as possible, everyone instantly decides to diffuse out, getting in my way. A few rounds of ‘excuse me’ and pretending that I just need to use the bathroom, every moment passing delays me and puts Logan in more danger. He is not drunk. I don’t know what she did to him. I barge through the door. The sight I’m greeted with is the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how she did it so quickly. Logan’s blazer, waistcoat, and tie have all been tossed aside and his shirt ripped open. Even in the darkness, the closet is small enough for them to be close to me- close enough for me to see his glasses carelessly discarded and lipstick marks covering his face and neck. She’s sprawled all over him, like a predator devouring her prey. I’m overwhelmed with rage, it floods through me like water through a pipe, and I burst. I storm over to them, grab her and throw her away from him, and try to get his attention.  
“Lo? Logan? Please, sweetie, Logan!” I cry, but his eyes are empty and soulless. He’s alive; he’s definitely breathing, but he’s completely unresponsive.  
“Is he okay, Roman?” Betty asks, enraging me even further.  
“You tell me! What the hell did you do to him?!” I roar furiously. “And don’t you dare say you just found him like this!”  
“It wasn’t much… I just, I didn’t want to, but-” she stutters, but I interrupt in shock that she would try to lie to my face.  
“Oh shut up with that ‘I didn’t want to’. If you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t have done it! What was it, then? Rohypnol? Or maybe a legal sedative?” I interrogate, buttoning his shirt back up simply because he wouldn’t want to be compromised like this.  
“The first one…” She admits, no longer the suave and seductive woman but a timid little girl. I laugh. I don’t know why.  
“Get out of my sight.” I demand. She twitches the whole time, but she opens the door and leaves. Supply closets really are bigger than I thought they were. I don’t know what to do now, none of Logan’s lectures, no heroic movie or book, nothing has ever prepared me for this moment: the moment where the love of my life is lying helpless on the floor of a supply closet after being drugged and… And… I can’t even think it. I cannot bear to think of what would have happened if I hadn’t noticed that they’d disappeared, or even what would have happened if it had been even five minutes later, or if there was a lock on the door. I grab his head and call his name again, gently tapping to see if he comes back. His eyes are dull and empty and absolutely haunting. I have two options: I can stay here with him (there’s no way I’m leaving him here alone) and just wait until… Something changes; or I can try to get him through the bar and into the car and go home. Unsure, I get my phone out- it’s 11pm so Patton will be asleep- and I call Virgil.  
“Virgil?” I whisper down the line. I may have been shouting earlier, but now I’m conscious that the walls here aren’t soundproof.  
“Roman? You sound panicked, are you alright?”  
“No, I’m not and I need your help, but don’t worry it’s just advice.”  
“Roman, buddy, you know that I can’t just ‘not worry’. What’s the issue?” He asks trying to sound casual but I can practically hear his nerves.  
“Logan has been drugged.” I say somewhat bluntly. Suddenly, I hear a clunking sound, before he picks up his phone again and literally shouts down the line.  
“Logan got drugged? For real? Where is he? And where are you?”  
“Shush, we’re in a supply closet near the bar at some kind of nightclub. It’s just us two, but he’s unresponsive and oh my god Virgil I’m so scared I don’t know what to do! His face is just blank but he’s still breathing so- like- I’m presuming he’s mostly okay but I can’t just stay in here but there are so many people outside that I won’t be able to get him to the car without people doing something! I can’t even drive!”  
“Patton can drive! If I wake him up and get him to drive us over to come get you, you text us your location, and we’ll come in and help you get him out. Are you okay?”  
“Yeah.” I lie.  
“Great,” he says, “I’ll go get him.”


	3. Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil knows about what's happened at the wedding. Now, he's faced with the challenge of explaining it to the sleeping Patton, and rushing over to help them as quickly as possible.

“Patton?” I call, shaking him gently by the shoulder. He’s disturbed, but he doesn’t wake up. I stand up to assess what I can do; I don’t want to be rough with him but it’s urgent. Wow, you have to be a different type of tired to sleep in jeans.  
“Patton! Wake up!” I call a bit louder, shaking him with more force. He still doesn’t wake up.  
“Dad, please!” I cry. He wakes up instantly. I feel the vibration from my phone, meaning Roman knows exactly where he is.  
“Hey kiddo.” His voice is soft and raspy. I hate having to wake him up- he’s always so okay with it but I know how much he likes sleeping.  
“Can you drive me to- to the Boom-Box Nightclub, please?” I don’t want to panic him when he’s this tired.  
“I’m not taking you to a night club.” He says firmly, sitting up in his bed now. I sigh. So be it.  
“Logan got drugged and Roman is currently stuck in a supply closet with him- probably crying his eyes out- and he doesn’t want to stay in there but he can’t take him out because it’ll cause a scene and he can’t drive anyway, but you can.” I explain, but I think I had him at ‘Logan got drugged’. He leaps out of bed, beckons for me to follow him, and immediately hops in the car with me and we drive over to the nightclub.  
“Logan was quite hesitant to even go to the wedding, you know.” I say to Patton, not wanting to have a silent car ride for, what, twenty minutes?  
“Roman was really excited, especially to spend time with Logan. Some people are just terrible. I’m almost surprised, too: Logan is usually so careful.”  
“Well, you know what he’s like… He’s a right charmer but a real show-off as well, all it takes is for someone to let him nerd out and he’s vulnerable.”  
“His incredible mind is his greatest weapon but is also his hubris.” Patton comments solemnly.  
“But still…” We say simultaneously. We share a shocked glance but he lets me go first.  
“It isn’t right to act like it’s his fault that this happened.”  
“I was going to say that we don’t even know what actually happened; he may not have gone on a tangent at all. But you’re right, it’s not his fault.”


	4. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone, scared, and cold. Roman is stuck in a supply closet with Logan passed out on the floor, not knowing when help will arrive or what will happen even when it does, all he knows is that he would do just about anything to keep Logan safe.

I’m sat with my back to the wall, all alone in this stupid closet with a Logan who could be as good as dead for all I know. I’ve been crying ever since I hung up on Virgil, regularly checking Logan for signs of him coming back and always making sure he’s breathing, and making sure nobody else is about to come in. If they do, it will not be easy for me to explain why I’m here with my ‘boyfriend’. I struggled, but I managed to put his waistcoat and blazer back on a few minutes ago when it started to get cold. I’m still shivering- I’ve tried pacing and I’ve tried curling up to reduce my surface area, but it’s so relentlessly cold. I give Logan my blazer as a blanket, he probably needs it more than me. I still haven’t had a text or call from Virgil. I can only hope that they’re on their way. What if they get lost? What if they’re denied entrance? There’s such a myriad of ‘what if’ questions going through my mind right now that I can literally feel a migraine coming on. If, for any reason, I never get the text, what do I do? I can’t just stay here, but I couldn’t drive us home anyway. 

It takes what feels like all night before I finally feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.   
We’re outside and coming in. Where do we go? It reads. I struggle to type out my answer with my hands shivering so much.  
Through the double door. The bar should be straight ahead of you, ignore anyone who asks you a question or just say you’re looking for me. The door to us is on the left of the bar when facing it. Please hurry, it’s so cold.   
In less than a minute, the door bursts open and Patton sprints towards us while Virgil just stands in the doorway in a feigned heroism- I know he’s been just as worried as the rest of us. Patton feels Logan’s hands, and instantly drops them in shock of how cold they are.  
“Are you okay?” Patton asks me, looking with those large round puppy dog eyes. He seems to be checking Logan for a pulse.  
“Let’s just get Logan home, please.”  
“Wow, his face is empty.” Virgil comments, making me sob a bit harder.  
“Come on,” Patton commands, standing up now, “Roman, if you carry him and Virgil and I will guard you and we’ll just go home, okay?” I never knew Patton could be so assertive. At first, I try to pick him up on my own, but I’m shaking so much that Virgil has to help me. Once he’s in my arms, however, he’s as easy to carry as a baby (it’s fortunate that he’s as small as he is). We run out as fast as we can and it takes less than thirty seconds to get in the car and start driving. Even the great outdoors are warmer than inside that closet, and it’s nearly midnight. Patton drives, Virgil takes the passenger seat, and Logan lies across the back seats, his head in my lap while I stroke his hair- which I didn’t even realise I was doing until I looked down and noticed. Obviously a nervous tick.  
“So what happened?” Virgil asks when we’re a few minutes into the journey back home.  
“Logan was sat at the bar while everyone else was dancing or talking or whatever and I went to the bathroom. When I came back, my niece- I think, I don’t quite know my relation to her- was sat a few seats away from him with some water. Logan, I remember, had already drank about half of his, and she showed it to me because it had lemon in it. I thought that, because she was so willing to show me the water, it was safe. She then said that Raven wanted me so I went to go see them, but she lied. I stayed talking to them for a bit but when I looked back, they were both gone, and I just saw them walking into that closet which I thought was quite surreptitious so I went over but loads of people got in my way so I got slowed down and when I finally got there…” I take a deep breath and try not to cry again, “when I finally got there he was lying on the floor and she was all over him, lipstick marks all over his face and neck, his blazer and waistcoat and glasses just on the floor, and his shirt unbuttoned and I got so scared. I confronted her and demanded to know what she did to him and she literally admitted to giving him rohypnol and then I told her to go away. I stayed with him but I got so scared that he’d died or something so I called Virgil and then in the time between then and now I just started thinking of what could have happened if I hadn’t noticed that she’d taken him there or if the door had been locked or- just everything! Worst case scenario, really, and it got so cold that I gave Logan my blazer in case he froze. Then you showed up.”  
“It’s lucky we didn’t get asked any questions- especially on the way out.” Says Virgil. Patton just looks like a mixture of relief and fatigue.  
“Thank you both for coming to help. I don’t know what I would have done without you. And sorry, Patton, for making you get up and drive all this way.” I add apologetically.  
“Well, I’d always rather you disturb me if it means you’re all safe. I’m just curious, though: Logan is always so cautious so how did she manage to spike his drink without him noticing?” Asks Patton, with Virgil nodding in agreement.  
“I honestly don’t know, but I don’t want to ask him in case he gets upset.” I reply.  
“But,” Virgil argues, “wouldn’t it be better to address the situation immediately and try to piece together the details even at his discomfort than just not talk about it, pretend it never happened, and let Logan live wondering what happened tonight? I know which one I’d prefer if it were me.”  
“But this isn’t you.” I snap maliciously. “And I don’t want it to be you, or anyone, ever.”  
“Kids,” Patton interrupts, “please calm down while I’m driving. I see what you’re saying, Virgil, but we all think we know what we’d rather have until it actually comes to us being presented with those options. Maybe we should just give Logan some time when he’s come back round to get his bearings again, but then ask him questions when he seems ready.”  
“Knowing Logan,” Virgil says, “even in his current state he’s analysing everything that happened and already figured out how she did it. He’s probably already making plans for what to do when he’s back.”  
“God, I hope so.” I reply.

As soon as we get back home, we dump him on his bed, make sure he’s tucked in alright, and leave him a glass of water and- at my request- a jar of Crofter’s. Patton leaves him an apple, and Virgil scrawls out a note in pencil saying ‘You’re okay. We’re all downstairs. Come down when you’re ready to talk.’ And we go downstairs, anxiously awaiting his return. It’ll be hours before he comes down, but there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep before I get to talk to him again.


	5. Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He remembers everything, and has everything figured out from how Roman's cousin managed to drug him to even what she used. But one thing still hangs in his mind: what happened in the hours between being taken into the supply closet to him waking up the morning after?

When I wake up, my head feels like it’s being split apart. My eyes burn in the sunlight from my window, and I feel like I’m about to be sick. Throwing my blanket over my head, I go back to sleep.

The second time I wake up, I open my eyes properly. To my right, on my bedside desk, is a glass of water. I don’t trust it at all- but do you blame me? I read the note, it appears to be from Virgil:  
‘You’re okay. We’re all downstairs. Come down when you’re ready to talk.’ It reads. How long have they been waiting there? Recognising where I actually am, I drink the water, which is lukewarm, and instantly feel better. I also notice the Crofter’s. I eat it with the spoon I always keep under my bed. Finally, I eat the apple, which is clearly from Patton as it has a smiley face carved into it and the exposed flesh of the apple has undergone enzymic browning. It’s still tasty nonetheless. I get out of bed, and not only am I still in my suit, Roman’s blazer is in my bed, too. I remember every single detail of last night, right up until getting dragged into the supply room. I vaguely remember resisting, but as soon as we walked in, I blacked out. Everything between then and now is a mystery to me, and I can only hope that the others- especially Roman- will provide answers. I change into something more comfortable (sweaters sure are a blessing) and make my way down the stairs, careful of each step as I still feel light-headed.

Roman, Virgil, and Patton are all sat down in a circle. Virgil looks tired from incessant worrying rather than sleep deprivation. Patton looks fatigued, but not as much as Virgil. Roman, dear Roman, looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, like he has never been less okay. Virgil is used to all-nighters, Patton got a few hours of sleep, and Roman stayed up all night worrying without a moment’s rest for the first time in his life.  
“Please,” I start, but my voice is dry and husky despite the water, “don’t talk too loudly or too quickly. I know what happened right up until I walked into the supply room, but everything after the door closing is a mystery to me, but I want you to elucidate the truth. Tell me every detail: there’s nothing I don’t want to know.”  
“Sit down, Logan, it’s quite a lot.” Patton says gently. Virgil is the closest, but I want to sit with Roman because he’s on our long stretch of a couch.  
“Roman knows everything that happened…” Virgil states. Roman clears his throat and begins.  
“Betty said that Raven wanted to see me, but she lied so that you’d be alone with her- that you probably know. When I turned around and noticed you were no longer sat at the bar, I noticed you walking into the supply closet. Suspicious, I raced over to make sure nothing was going to happen. When I finally got in…” He hesitates, “you were on the floor and Betty had taken off your blazer and waistcoat, and she was in the middle of taking your shirt off when I walked in. I yelled at her and told her to leave. Upon closer inspection, I noticed lipstick marks on your face and neck. Your eyes were open but looked hollow and empty, it was haunting and terrifying. I called your name but you didn’t respond, so you’d obviously just blacked out completely. I stayed there thinking what to do-” I interrupt him before he can go on. I don’t mean to, but I have a terrible tendency to think aloud.  
“You’d have caused a scene if you’d dragged my seemingly lifeless body across the bar and outside, so staying in the supply room was preferable in spite of the cold and darkness because of privacy.”  
“Yeah, exactly…” He says in awe. He continues. “I called Virgil and asked him to get Patton and come help me. I think we were in that closet for an hour, and I admit that I was crying the whole time. It was so cold that I gave you my blazer as a blanket. Virgil and Patton came in, and we got you up and in the car before coming back here. I presume you found the water, and snacks?” I nod my head, yawning, and lean on his shoulder decisively. He’s soft and warm.  
“So, now you know what happened on our end, can you explain what happened on yours?” Virgil suggests tentatively. Patton was right: it really is a lot. Fortunately for them, I have everything figured out, to every last detail. They all snicker when I explain that to them.  
“What’s funny?” I ask, confused and worried.  
“Virgil said, last night in the car while you were sleeping on Roman that you were probably figuring out every microscopic detail in your head while you were out. He said it jokingly, we didn’t think you’d actually have deduced everything already.” Explains Patton. Honestly, I’m offended that they’re so surprised.  
“Well, here’s what happened: as soon as she sat down with me, she asked if I’d been drinking. I answered honestly, because I had. Instantly, she ordered two glasses of tap water and the bartender put in some lemon slices, ice cubes, and mint leaves- yes this will all be relevant later. The tender placed the tray of glasses besides her, out of my reach and she gripped them both firmly before taking a sip out of one and passing me the other. I was thirsty, so I drank almost all of it instantly and I commented on the taste but she said hers was the same after a light sip. After Roman had appeared and then gone again, we started talking. She complimented my choice of clothing for the two of us and I returned it, we talked about what we were studying, and she started to ask for the intimate details of the relationship she believed I held with Roman. It wasn’t long after that that I started to feel dizzy and lose control of my body. She took my hand and led me to the supply room. You all know what happened after that.” I conclude with a sigh.  
“Logan, how did someone as smart as you get your drink spiked? You’re usually so vigilant, what was it about her?” Asks Roman, who seems so tired but scared above all.  
“Betty may not be a good person, but she’s very clever. She asked if I’d been drinking, and it wasn’t until after I said yes that she ordered tap water- tap water specifically. She obviously had some kind of arrangement with the bartender to drop GHB in one of them-”  
“She said it was rohypnol.” Interrupts Roman.  
“It wasn’t- at least not by itself. Let me finish and I’ll explain exactly why: so the tender placed the tray next to her, and when she put her hands over the glasses, she was testing which one was colder. You see, when the drug dissolved in the water, it would have been an endothermic reaction because bonds need to be broken between solid molecules for it to dissolve and form an aqueous solution, thus absorbing energy- thermal energy- from the surroundings, making the drugged glass colder, which is the one she gave me. She only took a tiny sip of hers, probably drinking it so as not to look suspicious but only a sip because if she’d been mistaken in which glass she’s kept, she wouldn’t give herself a harmful dose by just a sip. Despite having asked for tap water, we were given additional lemon slices and mint leaves. This was probably to cover up the taste of GHB, which is notorious for having a salty and unpleasant taste. In failing, I commented on the taste, to which she lied and said hers was the same, which it wasn’t because the only thing in her glass was water. I don’t think it was rohypnol because it is odourless, colourless, and tasteless. The effects of both drugs, however, are enhanced when combined with alcohol which is why I blacked out so quickly and also why she asked if I’d been drinking before ordering the water. It was a terrible thing to do, but every single step was calculated and deliberate, and incredibly clever.” I conclude. Talking about that was cathartic, it’s a relief knowing what happened almost immediately after I’d gone, even if it had me in a compromising state. For some reason, I feel an incessant and overwhelming need to apologise, especially to Roman for having made him so upset and keeping him awake all night. For now, I just want to rest…

I wake up for the third time today, and it seems that Patton and Virgil are watching some kind of anime. I’m aware that I’m sleeping in Roman’s lap and that he’s stroking my hair. Worst of all, I’m aware that I’m enjoying it, and aware of how much I need some gentle affection. Lazily, I sit up and crawl to the other side of the couch, apologising profusely for falling asleep in his lap, to which he giggles and blushes, dismissing my apology because I ‘deserve to sleep wherever is most comfortable after last night’. I can’t be bothered to argue my point. I’m not particularly traumatised, just discomforted that other people had to be affected by it. I wish Roman hadn’t noticed, then he wouldn’t have been so worried for hours on end and stayed up all night, and Patton wouldn’t have had to have been woken up and forced to drive all that way in the middle of the night, and Virgil wouldn’t have had his anxiety worsened. My chest tightens and, on the verge of bursting into tears, I head back to my room and bury myself under the covers. I let myself sob into my pillow, which muffles the noise in the hopes that none of the other three will hear.


	6. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that everyone knows everything, having had all the information shared, it seems like that's it. However, when Logan saunters silently into his room without another word, Roman follows to see a heartbreaking scene before him. Angst and fluff ensues.

I follow him after a few minutes; if I’d gone up straight away the other two would definitely have noticed and probably followed suit. I also want to give him time to let the worst of it go. Logan is hard to describe. He rarely feels anything he doesn’t want to feel and it just internalises itself- I don’t think he even has control of what gets felt and what gets bottled up anymore- until he cracks and everything comes pouring out at once. The cycle starts again. It’s like taking out the trash, but painful, and after last night, there’s certainly a lot of trash he needs to take out. I give him five minutes alone and then go see if he’s alright. It’s our unspoken system, it’s the same Virgil and Patton have: give some time to release the worst, and then go to comfort. So as not to startle him, I knock on the door quietly before entering. The scene that greets me isn’t pretty: he’s under his blanket quietly sobbing into a pillow, with the clothes from last night thrown carelessly on the floor (which he did himself, nobody wanted to change him so we just left him be). Generic clothes-scattering isn’t objectively a cause for a messy room in and of itself, but this is Logan who has his outfits all hung up in a specific order, his books organised by genre, and his tied ordered alphabetically (I don’t even know what that means!)  
“Hey, buddy.” I whisper, closing the door behind me as I let myself in further. I sit on the chair by his desk, on which he has an open notebook filled with graphs and charts of data that, at first glance, is absolutely nonsensical. He sobs harder, burying himself further amongst the sheets. Maybe he needed more than five minutes.  
“I’m so sorry, Roman.” He manages to squeeze out with his limited breath.  
“What? Why?” I ask. It’s not his place to apologise, if anything I should be sorry for leaving him with someone I knew to be dangerous to him. And I am. And I will be forever.  
“For being so careless. You were all right: I’m usually so vigilant but I wasn’t and you all suffered for it! You were up all night worried sick, Patton was awakened in the middle of the night and made to drive nearly half an hour, and we both know that Virgil already has a moderate generalised anxiety disorder. You all suffered because I let my guard down.”  
“Yes, you’re right,” I say, because he’s right and he knows it. I do too, and there’s no point in lying, “You’re right but we chose to suffer. I chose to go after you, and Virgil chose to try to help, and Patton chose to drive. We didn’t really suffer; we were inconvenienced. You suffered, and we would inconvenience ourselves for the rest of our lives to stop you from suffering. You didn’t choose. You didn’t get to make that decision, it was made for you, and you had no say. We chose to inconvenience ourselves, and you were forced into suffering without even knowing it.”  
“Ugh.” He mutters, rolling onto his back but squashing a pillow firmly against his head, blocking his face. He calls me grandiose, but he wouldn’t let himself be seen dead like this. Neither would I, but still. “Why do you always know what to say to make me feel less like trash?” He asks.   
“You know people objectively and how to manipulate them using logic. I know people in accordance to their subjections and manipulate them using emotion. We’re like Newton’s third law.” I say, confident that he’ll understand, and hopeful that it’ll make him feel better.  
“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. We’re equal and opposite, and you’re a nerd.”  
“I learnt that from you. Nerd.” I reply, stifling a smile. He laughs from under the pillow, so he’s at least stopped crying.  
“Oh, so you do listen to me.” He teases from under the pillow, having adjusted its position so his voice is less muffled.  
“It’s hard not to when you’re so insufferably didactic.”  
“Insufferably didactic?” he queries. Before I get my hopes up in having said something he doesn’t understand, he adds, “You’re on a clever streak today. I should get drugged more often.”   
“Logan, no! It’s not like you to joke!” I exclaim in a feigned upset.  
“Oh? Stop me.” He dares. I laugh, but don’t reply. I sit back in the chair, leaning towards the windowsill with a plethora of houseplants resting upon it.   
“Roman, this’ll sound weird…” He says timidly.  
“Go on.”  
“I felt safe resting on you when I was retelling last night’s events. It made me realise how deprived I am of contact comfort- which Harlow, in 1958, suggested is the most important factor in forming an attachment after his experiment in which-”  
“Do you want a hug?” I ask. I have to interrupt, otherwise he’ll keep going on digressions about his nerdy stuff and he’ll never get straight to the point.  
“Yes please.”  
“You have to move the pillow first.” I demand, to which he begrudgingly obliges. He throws it on the floor carelessly. His face is flushed with red splotches from his weeping and his eyes are puffy red. Who knows where his glasses are? Not me. As I get up and crawl into bed with him, he immediately latches onto me like a baby and tangles himself around my body. He certainly manages to get everywhere for someone so short. His legs are wrapped around mine and his arms are draped over my torso and even up to my neck. He’s resting his head on my chest, and I don’t flinch, or squirm away. Knowing that Logan feels safe after the most vulnerable night of all of his life when he’s close with me is a huge sign of trust, respect, and love (of sorts) that I never thought capable of receiving, nor did I think he was capable of giving it. Being with him, after everything, makes me feel important.  
“You’re important, Roman.” He says, startling me half to death.  
“Can you read my mind?” I ask, dumbfounded.  
“No, I was going to go off on a monologue, actually. What were you thinking about?”  
“How you give me a sense of importance, and how much I need you in my life.” I say, wrapping the arm that isn’t supporting his back onto the arm draped over my neck.  
“I was about to say the same thing, but with more words.”  
“Why don’t you now, then?”  
“You basically already said it.”  
“That doesn’t normally stop you.” I tease. He laughs, but doesn’t say whatever he was going to say. Instead, he talks about his charts and graphs, and explains that he was gathering data to try to find a correlation between how much coffee Virgil drinks and how much he is able to manage his anxiety.  
“The issue is that…” he yawns, “measuring how well he manages his anxiety is subjective. One day, I could say he is managing it very well and then later say that he needs improvement on the same thing. However, through operationalisation I’m able to limit that variable by defining my rating chart and his behaviours that would be assigned into each arbitrary category.” His speaking slows down, and each word becomes less its own and more blended into others. His yawns become more frequent, until he eventually falls asleep. I quickly follow suit, holding him firmly.


	7. Patton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calamity of the night before having finally come to a conclusion, Patton finds his two friends finally calm, just as they deserve. He also learns to accept that, despite how much he tries, he just can't keep them all safe. But, they're okay now, and he's okay with that.

I sneak into Logan’s room. After already searching Roman’s room in vain, this is the only place left they could be. First, I press my ears to the door to try to hear some signs of what they could be doing; I don’t want to interrupt them if they’re talking or doing something important. There’s no sound, absolutely nothing. I creek the door open a crack, and peer inside. At first, I still see no sign of them, until I tip-toe inwards and take a closer look at the lumps on the bed. Sure enough, they’re both there asleep, taking deep and synchronised breaths. Logan is sprawled out over Roman and intertwined himself like a knot. Roman is mostly lying flat, with one arm around Logan and the other positioned as if to hold his hand. His chin rests upon Logan’s head, which rests on his shoulder. They both have every right to be exhausted. I’d never seen or heard Roman so worried until last night, the fear must be exhausting. I don’t even want to imagine what it must be like from Logan’s perspective, not having any idea about what happened between two points in time. He really impressed me when he talked about his side, explaining how everything linked together, from the excessive addition of lemon to the gripping of the glasses. No detail gets past him, even from beyond the conscious plane he was still his concrete self.  
Roman made me proud as well, how he was able to keep retelling the events that could very well have traumatised him, every time consolidating that it was real and it did happen.  
Virgil amazed me, too. The way he was able to be so responsible, calm, and controlled throughout the whole ordeal is a huge achievement for him. He confided in me while Roman was in the kitchen getting something to drink last night, that he was acting a lot more confident than he felt. I told him that bottling up his feelings isn’t okay, but momentarily putting them aside for the sake of a greater good is important, so long as we acknowledge and deal with them as soon as possible.  
They never fail to impress me on a day-to-day basis either. Logan has a strange ability to absorb and regurgitate information and never forget it, which leads to a lot of lectures and confusing jargon, but he’s in his prime when faced with a problem to solve or something to analyse. That’s not something that any of us others can do.  
Roman is a miracle. I’ve had numerous sources give me different statistics for the average life expectancy of a transgender person, and I’ve seen as little as twenty three to as high (in a loose sense of the word) as thirty five. I’ve read all the statistics, and the odds were stacked against him in every way, but he is here and he is clever, strong, passionate, and caring, even in times wherein I’d find it impossible to be that way.  
Virgil does everything with precision. Everything is of a means to something; he has no time for pleonastic actions or obstacles. The universe dealt him his cards and gave him moderate anxiety, depression, and bullies. He seized the universe with both hands and demanded everything he deserved: better. He strives for improvement every day. He gets tired, but his resilience is admirable.  
And I try to look after them. It’s like my job to take care of them and make sure they’re away from harm, to make sure that these miracles stay the way they are, and last night is the only time I ever felt like I’d failed. Yes, I heard Logan blaming himself (wrongly, I shall clarify) and I know Roman feels guilty for leaving him with Betty when he was aware of potential consequences. Did I have anything to do with the incident? No. Was I aware of it even being a possibility? Absolutely not. I still failed to protect him.  
No, I think to myself, that’s not true. I drove them back home and gave Logan the apple. I’m not a clairvoyant and I can’t foresee the future, but I can manage the present as best I can.  
They all make me so proud. They make me so happy. And I should try to make myself proud, too.


End file.
